Half of a Whole
by Shembre
Summary: The human mind is truly capable of not just anything… but everything... even if it just short of madness. Mal quickly learns this after her stay in Limbo. Pre-Inception, Mal's POV, for the most part, on the action that leads up to the hotel scene. ON HIATUS.
1. Prologue

**(A/N: Here is my fourth Inception fic on here, and it is based on a prompt on the Inception Kink meme that said: "We know something of what Dom's image of Mal is from his projection of her. But how does Mal see him? Why does she love him?" I really want to explore Mal's character, so obviously all the events take place before the movie (which is not my property, it's Nolan's). This story will be longer than the other three I've written. Enjoy!) **

**Half of a Whole**

By Shembre

~ ~ * * * Prologue * * * ~ ~

It was suddenly too exhausting to continue standing there in Cobb's dark dining room. Arthur dropped into the nearest chair with a muffled thud that only his tailbone could've made when it connected with the wooden seat. Sweat broke the surface of the skin closest to his spine.

_"Hello?"_

_Cobb's voice had been calm, but in a way that had assured Arthur that he was up to something— which would've been normal… if the sun had been up. "I need you to meet me at my house," he'd said over the phone._

_ Arthur had been trying to catch up on some real sleep while Cobb spent the evening with his wife. "What about your anniversary dinner with Mal?" he'd asked, justifiably confused. He'd yawned into the crook of his arm._

_ "Arthur, just do as I ask. Go to the house. I'll meet you there."_

_ "Alright…" he'd replied, groaning in irritation. "Can't I ask what this is about? It's two in the morning, Cobb."_

_ "You'll know when you get there," Cobb dodged his question._

Arthur was almost overwhelmed by the temptation to shout a string of curses, drawing from air at the bottom of his lungs. He also wanted to bang his head against the wall, or flip over the heavy table in front of Cobb, who sat rigidly to his right. A screw driver jammed under the nails would've been better than hearing that Mallorie Cobb had committed suicide by jumping out of a goddamn hotel window. He just wanted to do something violent or loud because Cobb was being way too calm, and it was driving him crazy.

The older man muttered for the fourth time, "Mal… she's dead." Cobb cleared his throat. "There was a crowd when they put her body into the ambulance." Cobb's lip curled when he said this. "They were disgusting. People—people who call themselves 'civilized' still can't let go of the days when public executions and freak shows were considered top quality entertainment for the whole family. They watched, mesmerized, as my wife's _body_ was cleaned up and taken away like it was road kill."

Arthur blinked, dragged out of his trance by Cobb's monotonous, dead voice. He tried to say something… _anything_… but nothing came out. He lifted his head. He felt sick.

Looking forward, Cobb tugged at his disheveled, loosened tie and slid it off the back of his neck. A black jacket was resting limply on the back of his chair. Arthur could only make out the contour of Cobb's cheek, nose, and taut jaw in the hazy darkness, but it was as if the man had aged another ten years in one night.

"I pleaded with her not to do it— to jump. She wanted us to be together…"

Arthur closed his eyes and pushed his fingers against his lids until he saw flecks of light. He was trying to squeeze out the vision that played too vividly in the forefront of his imagination.

Mal arguing psychotically with Cobb…

Mal stepping out into empty space…

Mal crumpled on the…

"She thrashed the room. She said she'd filed a letter to our attorney," Cobb went on, continuing to make even less sense than Arthur would've liked. Cobb's voice cracked. "She said she was 'fearful for her safety'. That's why she thrashed the room."

His heart shuddered behind his ribs. "Why'd she say that? You'd die before you'd harm a hair on her head." He shivered in despair. "Cobb, why'd she _wanna_ jump at all? She's never struck me as suicidal. I mean, she's been a little stressed out lately, but…"

Cobb suddenly made solid eye contact. He scrunched up the black tie in his hands. "_Because,_ she wanted to free _me_ from the guilt of leaving our children."

Arthur raised a brow. _Why would Cobb leave Mal and the kids? How does jumping out a window solve anything?_

Cobb shook his head sadly. "She lied to me. She wasn't getting better. She was plotting to try and save us."

"I don't understand." Arthur frowned, shaking his head. He swallowed. "'Save us'?" he repeated. "From_ what_? What are you _talking_ about?"

"From a dream," Cobb answered plainly, as if it were so obvious. "To get back to reality she said we had to kill ourselves." He then looked down at the table. "I was supposed to jump with her."

Arthur's mouth had fallen open, and he closed it. Warily, he whispered, "Cobb, I've only known you for a year—longer, if you count the amount of time we've spent with the PASIV—and our relationship is primarily a professional one… and I understand why you kept this side of her from me, to protect her—"

"Ignorance is bliss, Arthur, believe me. I'm sorry, but this was between my wife and me."

Arthur shut his mouth at the quick, unyielding response. He looked around the room and shifted in his seat, feeling out of sorts, especially in the sweatshirt, sloppy tee-shirt, jeans, and sneakers he'd quickly thrown on. He ran his fingers self-consciously through his short, sleep-mussed hair. Of course Cobb wouldn't want to discuss his wife's brittle mental state with the kid they'd hired to help them train and arm the subconscious of paranoid corporate suits. Hired to take some of the stress off Mal because two young children need a lot of attention. Because Mal had so willingly welcomed Arthur into the Cobbs' life, he felt like he was entitled to more than just "it was between my wife and me". The invitations to family dinners when he would've otherwise microwaved a TV dinner for himself at his apartment; Mal and Cobb patiently drilling with him to perfect every trick they'd learned from Miles or invented themselves until he was performing to their standards; Mal buying him the business attire and shoes as a birthday present that he couldn't have otherwise afforded himself— had it all been for nothing? His own naïve foolishness sickened him. The feeling was almost gone at once, but left behind a nagging uneasiness towards Dominick Cobb.

Not everything in their personal lives had been kept secret from him, though- they'd told him about Limbo. Springing from the image of Mal's body lying on the pavement like a porcelain doll knocked from a shelf, Arthur couldn't help but wonder if Mal's death had anything to do with their stay in Limbo. He was at a loss as to why such a thought had occurred to him, but… they _had_ needed to kill themselves in order to wake up. Arthur had had to kill himself in a dream before, and it wasn't pleasant, and fifty years _was_ a long time to spend in one dream, no matter how proficient a grip a person had on reality.

For the first time, Arthur realized how noiseless the house was; how bone-chillingly and gut-wrenchingly impersonal it was, made it feel like a foreign continent. The stagnant, unmoving air didn't even smell right. The chair he sat in seemed to drink in the warmth from his body and give nothing in return.

"Where are the kids?" he asked finally while he watched Cobb remove a small, silver top from his pocket and carefully wrap his tie around it.

"Not here, thankfully. They're with Marie." Cobb swallowed thickly. "Here, keep this safe for me, will you, Arthur, hmm? I had to grab it before the cops confiscated it as evidence. Mal jumped just before ten, and I was busy at the police station up until I called you. I thought you should know before you saw the news." Fresh tears ran down the older man's flushed cheeks. "I can't have it right now."

"Mal's totem… It reminds you too much of her?" Arthur guessed, bemused. He barely registered the soft fabric roll that was placed in his upturned, cupped palms. "Mal set you up…" He couldn't complete the sentence. Police officers often seemed to cling to the most obvious leads and hold onto them with a death grip. "Her mental state… have you explained it to them? Will you tell them about how we have to kill ourselves to wake up sometimes when we share dreams? How we keep totems to keep track of reality?" He then added, a little bit cuttingly, "Or are you gonna hang onto that piece of information, too?"

Cobb glared at him. His nostrils flared a bit. "Even if I explained everything to them, I have a feeling that it won't be so simple, Arthur," Cobb replied hostilely. The hand he'd rested on the surface of the table curled into a fist. "Dream-sharing is outlawed in the United States, remember? I can't share _anything_ about that, alright? As it is, your employment is off the books. You do not exist in our lives. I might need you to hide the PASIV and the compounds at your place."

Arthur frowned.

"If I know my wife…" Cobb continued with a sneer, "I'm willing to gamble that she put on a worthy performance for her psychiatrist."

Arthur cringed. _That's what those "appointments" were… She was couch bait for a goddamn shrink!_ "What about fingerprints? Did you touch anything?"

Cobb shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. "I don't know… I don't remember. I don't think I did. Not anything that was broken or smashed anyway."

"How long were you two alone together? Did any cameras see her or you?"

"I don't know." Arthur was sure their meeting was over when Cobb stood up abruptly. "Like I said, Arthur, keep her totem safe until I ask for it back."

Arthur nodded rigidly. "I won't touch it." He stood up as well.

"That's all I ask. I'll call you tomorrow afternoon, alright? I'm expected at the station again in the morning. They're going to break down the crime scene for me, probably try to force a confession." Cobb then started to lead Arthur towards the front door.

Straight-faced, Arthur muttered, "Sounds like fun."

When the shape of Cobb's shoulders hardened, Arthur felt a pang of guilt. They walked through the house in silence. Cobb pulled open the door and stood to the side. His posture was rigid.

Arthur paused when half his body was already out the door.

"Good-night, Arthur," Cobb told him formally.

Arthur turned back, his hand squeezing the small package in his left hand. The night, late-summer air nipped at the skin on his hands. "Cobb… I'm sorry she's gone. I shouldn't have antagonized you."

Cobb gave him a thin smile. "I'm just as angry as you are," he said quietly, although his tone was not nearly as hostile has it had been a minute before. He glanced down at the ground, giving the impression that he wasn't all the way present. "Tomorrow, Arthur," the older man reminded him wearily.

Arthur nodded and followed the sidewalk to the street where his car was parked. Behind him, Cobb closed the door and locked it.

He did no envy Cobb what needed to be done in the morning with the police, as well as with Mal's divorced parents, Miles and Marie.

_And those poor kids..._

Since he'd known him, Cobb had been a private sort of man, which was somewhat admirable in a day and age where people did not hesitate to share every minute of their lives with faceless strangers. Arthur predicted that Cobb's thoughts and motives were going to be much harder to access and understand from that point on… _if_ of course, Cobb kept him around and stayed out of prison.

_What went wrong, Mal? How could someone like you lose touch with reality? How could you do this to your family? What in the hell happened?_

~ ~ * * * (*) * * * ~ ~_  
_

**(A/N: I thought it would be interesting to tell the first part through Arthur's POV. The rest of it will be through Mal's eyes, and will also contain flashbacks regarding her childhood and her life with Cobb.)**


	2. Home

**(Update time! Let's start answering some of those questions from the prologue. :))**_  
_

~ ~ * * * (*) * * * ~ ~

_ How are we able to tell that the world around us isn't one fat lie?_

Mal sluggishly removed the cuff and needle, and sat up, her body stiff—not from the deterioration of her ligaments, or the strain on her weakening bones— but from lying down on the ground all night long with nothing but a rug and a pillow beneath her to create the illusion of comfort. The muscles in her neck and lower back were tight, but she'd felt worse.

Dom stirred next to her, and grunted softly. He was still lying on his side.

_How can we know, how can we trust our senses when the mind will easily betray us if the conditions are right? How can we be sure of anything when men can tell biased histories in text books, or embellish stories in the news?_

She wasn't sure why these had been her first thoughts when she'd opened her eyes. None of it had actually happened; it had only been a dream. A false fantasy, no different than a daydream. The train hadn't actually caved in her head.

"It's okay. We're back now."

Dom reached over and she felt the warmth of his finger tips on her arm as she stared into space. His voice rang crystal clear, like a voice she remembered from years before—

_No, that wasn't real. That world was a dream._

It took her a moment to register that golden, early spring sunlight was flooding into the room. It must have been just before eight in the morning. Something out of the corner of her narrowed eyes reflected the sun, and she turned to see the light glint off the silver case of their PASIV. There was still an hour and forty minutes remaining on the clock.

"We're back, Mal. That place… Where were we?"

Whatever that place had been, it was certainly beautiful. They knew now that the human mind was truly capable of not just anything… but _everything_. It had been so much more lucid than a typical PASIV dream, and they'd spent so many happy years together. Just them. Already her memory of it was fading away, much to her frustration. Would she be able to write it all down, or draw it out? Could she even go back there one day? Would she _want_ to?

_How are we able to tell that the world around is our own?_ The intrusive thought danced through her mind yet again, terrifying her. She struggled to bring herself out of the daze she was lingering in.

"Did you hear me, sweetheart…?"

Mal looked into Dom's handsome, smiling face, and immediately, unwanted tears pooled up in her eyes.

Dom's boyish smile disappeared. Scooting closer, he wrapped his arm around her waist and tried to pull her onto his lap, but she resisted.

In that moment, she was angry with him for making her leave her perfect paradise. In the next instant, she realized she had no right to be angry with him because the decision had been mutual, and it would be unfair to soil the time that they'd spent together. They may have spent fifty years doing literally nothing, but it was time that belonged only to them.

Her cheek soaked in the warmth from his breath when he kissed her. The rest of her body was cold and felt out of place. It felt _too_ young and _too _healthy.

"Is something wrong?" Dom breathed into her ear before pulling away to scour his eyes over her face. His fingers closed around her hand, and very faintly his pulse transferred through his grip onto her supple, unblemished skin.

She shook her head and mumbled automatically, "Nothing is wrong, dear." She lifted a hand and stroked her fingers through her bottom lashes to brush away her tears.

His grip tightened. "Are you sure?"

She needed to gather her thoughts— that was for certain. As gently as possible, she tugged her hand away and pushed her weary, awkward body to stand up. Her joints cracked softly. "I'm going to take a shower, Dom." Her voice quaked faintly, and she flashed a smile to try and hide it. Before he could stand up and stop her, she turned on her heel and headed for their bedroom.

He called her name, and it echoed through the hallway. "Mal?" he called a second time.

Mal snatched her silver top off her cherry-red dresser and locked herself in their bathroom.

_"Mal?"_

In the mirror, a woman with short brown hair, red-rimmed eyes, and a youthful face stared back at her. The lines around the woman's eyes and mouth were nonexistent, and the glint in her sharp blue eyes was both fearful and unkind. Like the eyes of an untrusting animal. She tilted her head to the side, and so did the woman. Her memory didn't register this face at all. It was also full of disappointment and sadness, when she remembered seeing contentment, confidence, and inquisitiveness.

_How can I smile back at such a face? That can't be my face… But I know it is… so how can I think two such things at once? I will just have to get used to looking like this again, I suppose…_

Mal looked down at the top pinched in her graceful, dexterous fingers. There was no way those fingers had grasped onto Dom's arthritic hands while they'd waited for the train to come and take them home.

_But they are my hands._

Mal ducked into the shower and turned the hot water on. Soon, the steam was rolling into the modest room and fogging up the mirror. Taking her totem top, she touched the point to the sandy-colored stone counter.

_"Mal?"_

She flinched when Cobb's voice came through the door. The locked doorknob clattered.

"Dom, I'm alright. I'm just feeling a bit shaken."

_"You're sure?"_

"Yes," she said, trying to force a laugh. It was shrill and cheerless sounding, and she prayed the cascading water, as it hit the solid tiles in the shower, would disguise it. "I understand your concern, but I am not a child. This isn't the first time I've died in a dream."

_"Well, okay then, if you say so,"_ he replied, though she could hear something in his voice that hinted that he was humoring her. _"I'm going to pack up the PASIV, okay? _Je t'aime, _Mal."_

The corner of her mouth twitched up. "_Je t'aime plus,_" she called back with a heavy sigh. "Now leave me in peace, Dom."

_"Are you tired? Do you want me to call Marie and tell her to keep the kids a little longer?"_ Dom continued. _"They won't mind spending a few more hours with Grandma, will they?"_

Mal stiffened. Unintentionally inviting in the memories she'd gathered while in… that place… she was able to dig through her thoughts and resurrect two faces like a paleontologist brushing dust away from a bone fragment. These faces grew fuzzier by the second, but they weren't small— no, the faces she saw where grown up. Mal's body broke out in a cold sweat. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember what they'd looked like as babies.

_How old are Phillipa and James? _Oh non_… Why is this happening? Does Dom feel this distraught, too?_

If he did, he was much better at hiding it.

"I do feel tired," Mal admitted quickly before Dom could grow even more suspicious. She needed time to compose and prepare herself, and she would wait to talk to him about this when she fully understood the matter at hand. Her flustered state was unacceptable, and maybe she'd feel better if she got a few good hours of undisturbed sleep. "We've lived a whole lifetime, _mon amour_," she added. "We both deserve a good rest."

_"I couldn't agree more, Mal."_

She felt her body relax once she no longer could sense Dom lurking on the other side of the door. He didn't mean anything by it, and she guessed that he'd picked up on her odd mental state, but she needed her room to think. One hand bracing her weight against the counter, she told herself to breathe. She still held the top, and finally put it down on its side. She couldn't bring herself to spin it.

_How far did we go? How many dreams within dreams before the dreams had collapsed? Is that what how we ended up there?_

She honestly couldn't remember. Who could remember anything like that after fifty years?

_Fifty years spent inside a _dream_ that had lasted for only ten _hours_. We'll be starting over again._

The thought both excited and frightened her. How many people had been given the opportunity to live their life twice?

_How many would want to? After they'd already lived a perfect life in paradise?_

Mal shivered despite the mugginess of the room. She pulled off her tee-shirt one sleeve at a time, stripped her legs of her pants, and took off everything else, knowing that Dom was probably watching the clock. She turned down the temperature in the shower and stepped inside.

_My grasp on reality is flawless. I've never questioned things like this before!_

She let out a shaky, irritated breath. As the lukewarm water beat down on her head and shoulders, a sickening thought occurred to her. It arose in her mind so _sharply_ that she lost her balance and almost dropped the bottle of shampoo in her hand when her back collided with the wall of the shower. It was as if a strong burst of wind had blown her to the side like a leaf. She shut her eyes tight, and drops of water from her hair dribbled over her eyelids. Her breathing quickened and she started to feel light-headed.

_What if we didn't get all the way out? What if we're still _trapped_ in the dream?_

Dom had been the dreamer, when they'd initially gone under, and she thought that he'd been the dreamer also when they'd engineered the dream PASIV in order to go into the second dream. Usually that's how things went, with him being the dreamer—he was the better architect between the two of them, after all…

Then her memory clouded, and she couldn't remember if they'd managed to create a dream within a dream within another dream before everything had collapsed and they'd washed up in… that place.

_It wasn't a paradise; it was on the edge of hell! Dom was right— we had to leave in order to preserve our sanity._

_"Mal? You've been in there for forty-minutes—"_

"I'm not a child, Dom!" Mal spat in a voice she'd never heard before. It was desperate, angry, and sorrowful.

When she opened her eyes, she realized that the water had been turned off. Had she turned it off? Her body was shivering, and she was sitting at the bottom of the shower with her knees knocking against her chest. Small droplets of water had gathered on her bare skin. Damp strands of hair clung to her cheeks and the nape of her neck. At least her breathing had calmed a bit.

_"Mal, should I find the key to the door? You're scaring me. I know we've died in dreams before… It's just…"_

Mal frowned and immediately disengaged her arms from her legs. "I know." Her hands went behind her to help her stand up, using the slick tiles as support. "_Je suis d'accord_," she called. "There's no need. I'm coming out now." Inwardly she chided herself for scolding her husband.

_"Good... Ah… Marie is bringing the kids home around dinner time,"_ Dom reported. _"I went ahead and started the toaster oven so we have a little something to eat before we get some shut eye."_

Mal looked around for a towel, and had to remind herself that there was a whole stack of them on the rack above the toilet. She had about sixty seconds before her husband broke in. "Thank you, Dom," she replied quickly as she dried her hair and wrapped the white, fluffy cloth around her body.

Her hands then fell upon her totem.

_Nothing strange about the weight,"_ she mused.

Forty seconds…

She touched the top to the counter, and this time she let it go. The air trapped in her lungs pressed against her ribs, and her body begged her to expel it as she watched it spin.

_My skin's on fire! _Her knees were weak, and she resisted the urge to knock the top over herself. _Screw gravity!_

She was slightly dizzy by the time the top started to wobble. When she could clearly see that it was about fall, she turned on the water in the sink.

Thirty seconds…

She let out a sigh. The top had fallen, just like it was designed to do.

_Little tokens like that little top only work if _you're_ in someone else's dream,_ a small voice whispered at the back of her mind. The thought was assuring, since it helped to weaken her previous fear that they were still trapped in Dom's dream, but the tone had been a bit menacing. It reminded her that totems did _not_ work when you were the dreamer… or if others knew how your totem worked.

Ten seconds.

Rolling her shoulders, Mal came to the conclusion that puzzling over all these contradictions served nothing but to drive her mad with fear.

_I have to put my foot down._

"Get it together, Mal, and move on." This time, her voice was steady as she nodded firmly at her reflection, as if it was the reflection that she had to convince that there was nothing wrong and that she was indeed safe in her own bathroom. "It was a wonderful place, but it was only a very powerful, lucid dream. Right now is real, so get it together."

Dom was thankfully out of the bedroom, and she heard the clanking of plates in the kitchen. While he was away, she carefully replaced the top on her dresser, just as she'd found it. She was dressed in her silky pajamas and had her legs under the covers when Dom arrived with two small plates of toast. He'd already changed into his usual white tee-shirt and striped, blue bottoms. He paused in the doorway.

"You look comfortable," he remarked.

She glanced at her hands and nodded her head. "Mmhmm… It's better than the floor," she replied, smiling back. Quietly, she added, "Dom, I'm sorry I yelled at you."

"No, it's…" He left the doorway and came to her side of the bed. He put the breakfast plates on her side table before wrapping her up in a hug. "It's a lot to absorb. I'm just glad I'm here with you, Mal," he whispered into the nape of her neck.

She hugged him back. Her eyes started to water again. "I'm glad, too."

He pulled away. He was smiling. "You are okay then?"

She nodded and rolled her eyes. "Yes, just tired. Aren't you?"

"Very." He nodded and grinned at her as he picked the plates back up. He placed her plate on her two upturned palms and stood up to walk around their bed.

Her piece of toast was covered in raspberry jam, and she could see that Dom had smeared peanut butter through the grape jelly on his slice. After he closed their dark plum-colored curtains to keep out the bright morning light, Dom turned on the lamp on his side of the bed, and joined her under the covers. They ate their meal in peaceful silence. It tasted sweet, and it filled Mal's belly. When they had finished, Dom took her plate and his and left the room. He returned with two glasses of water and handed one to her. She thanked him.

"Dom," Mal began, holding the perspiring glass between her fingertips, "will we tell people about dreaming within dreams? That it is possible?"

He took a sip of water. "You're thinking of that so soon?"

"Imagine the possibilities, Dom."

His mouth turned down a little as he placed his glass on the side table. "There will be consequences… We were just going off the _theory_ that it could be done, and so many believed it was impossible. It's like we've created a… a…"

"We've changed the world of dreaming, you and I," she finished for him. She took a quick drink from her glass to clear the grit of her toast from her mouth. "I know what you mean, by consequences. There is no going back now." She placed her glass on her side table before tugging at the covers and resting against her husband. She looked up at him. "You understand that humans will always find ways to harm others more deeply. That's why we build bigger guns, bigger bombs, bigger everything, even when the goal is to somehow make peace. We may be able to use this to help our clients who wish to protect themselves against subconscious corporate espionage, but who are we to say that it can't be used by the very men we're protecting our clients against." She shrugged. "Although… sooner or later, someone will do as we did. Will we be able to trust who that is? We don't know."

Dom nodded thoughtfully. "Trust is hard to come by… I don't know, Mal…" His face then lit up. "Maybe we could tell a _few_ first."

"What about my father to start?"

Dom grinned and tucked his arm behind her back. "He said it couldn't be done."

"Then we'll show him that it can." She found that she was grinning, too. "Sanders or Eames?"

Dom nodded. "They'll think it's terrific."

"Arthur?"

"He won't believe it until he sees it… But maybe we should stick to more experienced dreamers for now… But you're the one in charge of training him— it's up to you if you tell Arthur about this sooner rather than later."

"How many dreams were there? I can't recall."

He was quiet a moment. "I think maybe… two… and then wherever the hell we ended up. I think they collapsed."

His memories reassured her, and she felt herself relax a bit. She put her hand on his chest. "Do you think the first dream collapsed because there was no dreamer left behind to sustain it?" she mused. "Dreams collapse when the dreamer gets killed."

"Maybe. So much for our theory that one dreamer can sustain the whole thing." Dom stretched his arm and turned off the lamp. "Then again, we thought falling asleep in a lucid dream would do the trick, too."

The couple snuggled closer. She wrapped her ankle around his calf. "Will we tell other people about… that place?" she asked, feeling a bit mischievous and guilty at the same time. She also wanted to gage his feelings about it now that they'd escaped.

"Well, first, if we tell people about it, it should have a name, right?"

She pretended to think about it for a moment. The moment he'd asked, a name had fallen onto her tongue. She whispered, "We should call it Limbo."

Dom's hold on her body tightened when he shifted his weight. "The place where they say unbaptized babies go?" he asked nervously. "That's not quite hell…?"

She nodded. "Appropriate, no? You told me that after fifty years in Limbo, it was eating you alive to know that _nothing_ that we'd created was real. I remember. What could be more hellish than that?"

Dom rested his jaw on the side of her head. "In that case," he replied softly, "Limbo sounds perfect."

She shivered involuntarily and he started to rub her back.

"Maybe that's enough talk about dreams for now," he suggested.

"I wouldn't mind stopping either." She then sighed heavily and yawned.

"I love you, Mal." His voice was soft and sleepy.

"I love you more, Dom, _toujours et à jamais_," she replied. It was what she always said. "Forever and ever."

He whispered, "I'm happy that we're here in reality, but I'm sorry I made you leave."

"It was only in our heads," she whispered back. "I know I'll grieve for the loss of it, but this world is real. That's the best thing about it."

"We should take Phillipa and James to the park this week. Maybe a picnic."

She nodded. It was something to look forward to in the near future. "Yes," she agreed, pulling the sheets up to her shoulders and neck. "That would be excellent."

"Sweet dreams, Mal." He kissed her temple.

She clung to a fistful of his shirt, and focused on the rise and fall of his chest. "Yes, sweet dreams, Dom."

~ ~ * * * (*) * * * ~ ~

**(I'm going to try and keep these chapters relatively short- or at least in comparison to the damage that I could really do to the word count per chapter. With this one, I really wanted to convey that some of Mal's problems are starting to rise up, but also how she tries to push them away for now, since the story can't start out with her having a full-blown mental break down. I take her for a person who, under normal conditions, can show restraint when it comes to NOT having a mental break down. And hey, Cobb's inception aside, I think anybody would be freaked out after a 50 year lucid dream. Feedback for the story so far would be helpful, and who knows, it might promote faster updates. :))**


	3. Pretend

Two

_ "Daddy! That's not how you play dolls!"_

_ "Then how do I, dear? Show me, Mallorie."_

_ She takes the doll from her father. The figure has perfectly combed, peach-colored hair that is the same color as his plastic skin. It is a husband doll, and he has a tan shirt with tiny, black buttons, brown pants, and a miniature tie. In her other hand, she holds a figure with a flowery, green dress, black shoes, and a short bob that is the same color as her husband's hair. Mal's fingers barely reach around the bodies of the dolls. The small, pink Victorian-style house is resting on the floor._

_ "Like this." She was sitting on the back of her legs, and had to shift her weight so that they wouldn't fall asleep. After a minute, she decides to lie on her belly instead. Clearing her throat, she tries to imitate a man's voice. "Sweetie, we have to get ready for the party. There's a lot of work to do." Her voice then became more feminine. "Yes, honey, lots of work! The guests will be here in an hour!"_

_ "What kind of party is it?" Stephen Miles asks his daughter._

_ "A birthday party. It's Lucy and Phillip's birthday."_

_ "Who's Lucy and Phillip?"_

_ "Daddy, Lucy is their little girl—I told you her name was Lucy. She has a twin, and his name is Phillip."_

_ "How old are they today?"_

_ "Ten."_

_ "That's a big birthday."_

_ Mal nods and then starts to play again. She makes the mother doll wobble back and forth. "Honey, we have to get the cake and put up the streamers, and then we have to get the plates and the music and the ice cream, and the goodie bags, and the hats! I will—" Mal pauses to scratch her nose with the sleeve of her purple shirt. "I will go out and buy the food and the decorations. Honey, make sure that Lucy and Phillip stay away! This is a surprise party." Her voice changes again, and the father doll becomes animated, jumping up and down. "Those kids! They've almost ruined the surprise twice! Don't worry, I will keep them away."_

_ Miles then finds the "Phillip" doll and makes him stand at the top of the stairs in the house. He says, "Mom, Dad, what are you doing down there? Lucy called me a bad name."_

_ Mal gasps. "Daddy! Lucy isn't mean! Phillip is the one who calls her names!"_

_ Chuckling, her father swaps out Phillip for Lucy and says the same thing, only in a high-pitched voice. "He took one of my toys!" he adds._

_ Mallorie is still holding the parent dolls. "Ahhh! Oh-no!" exclaims the father doll. "Honey, the kids are going to come downstairs and ruin the surprise! I will keep them busy while you go shopping." She then makes the mother doll turn around and walk away. "Thank you," she says, "I will be back in half an hour with the party stuff! Oh, there's so much to do!" Mal puts the mother doll down and makes the father doll jump around the miniature dining room area in the house. "So much to do!" the father doll says._

_ Miles picks Phillip up again and tries to make the doll stand next to Lucy, but it's impossible for him to have both his hands in the house at the same time. He brings the dolls down to the main area where the father doll is. They start shoving each other. "I want my toy back!" shrieks Lucy. "No, dummy, you can't have it back!" shrieks Phillip._

_ Mal makes the father doll hop over to the kids. "No! Enough! Stop fighting! Phillip, give Lucy back her toy, and it's not nice to call your sister names."_

_ "Awe, okay, Dad," Phillip whines, then hops up the stairs and lies down on the landing._

_ The father doll turns to the Lucy doll and pats her shoulder. "Sweetie, are you okay?"_

_ "I'm okay." Miles's voice cracks a bit._

_ "Okay. Daughter? Why don't you and your brother ride your bikes around the neighborhood for an hour, okay?"_

_ "Okay. Dad, what are we doing today?" the Lucy doll asks. "Did you forget what today is?" The Phillip doll appears again and jumps up and down. "Yes, today is our birthday! Where are the presents and the cake?"_

_ Mal then makes the father doll walk off for a moment. As if he's performing an inner monologue, she makes him whisper, "Eeek! Oh no! The kids are going to ruin the surprise! That's not good! Mom is going to be here any minute with the party decorations, and they'll see that and know there is going to be a party!" The father doll then goes back to the kids. "We're not doing anything for your birthdays," fibs the doll. "I'm sorry, but your mom and I decided not to do anything. You're getting too old for parties."_

_ The children dolls jump up and down in protest. "Nooo!" Miles then makes them go at it again with their stiff arms._

_ Mallorie makes the father doll groan. "Ugh! Stop fighting! Go to your rooms, and don't come out until I tell you to! You're being punished!"_

_ The Lucy doll pauses. "I thought I was going on a bike ride."_

_ "Well, you can't, unless you apologize first. You were beating your brother up."_

_ "No, I won't apologize to him."_

_ "Daddy," Mallorie says, "Lucy has to apologize! She always does. Phillip has to apologize, too. Dolls are very polite to each other."_

_ "Why is that?"_

_ She shrugs, tucking a strand of her wavy, brown hair behind her ear. "I don't want to play with mean dolls, Daddy," she offers. She then looks up. "Why are people mean to each other?"_

_ He smiles. "That's not an easy question to answer, Mallorie. Sometimes they just are, or sometimes they're mean because they're really sad inside. But, there are lots of nice people out there."_

_ "Like you? And Mommy?"_

_ "Yes."_

_ Mallorie picks at the buttons on the father doll's shirt. "I don't know if Jay is nice or mean. He pulls my hair and ruins my toys." Her mind is no longer on the pink dollhouse with the yellow trim._

_ "He's just a baby, and he doesn't know any better. Jay will learn to not pull your hair and to be more careful with your toys. You'll learn to get along with your little brother."_

_ She blinks thoughtfully. "Are you sure?"_

_ Miles nods. "I am certain." He then cocks his head to the side, listening. "I think it's time for dinner. Your mother is setting the table." He starts to get up from the floor._

_ Mallorie grins and sits up on her knees. "Thanks for playing dolls with me, Daddy." She stretches her arms, and he hoists her up. "Daddy, did you play dolls when you were little?"_

_ "Not exactly. I played with toy soldiers and toy cars."_

_ He's carrying her from her bedroom, with its creamy, yellow, patterned wallpaper, and they're headed down the hallway._

_ "How do you play with toy soldier? And cars? Is it fun?"_

_ "It is lots of fun. I can show you sometime. How about that? Would you like that?"_

_ "Yes, Daddy, I would."_


End file.
